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Subject: {ASSM} RP: The Ride of Her Life {Frank Goldman} f, nc, sm, tort, nosex
Date: Mon, 14 May 2001 23:10:01 -0400
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The Ride of Her Life

   The Continuing Saga of Spurwood Girls' School

   by Frank Goldman



   ****************************************************** WARNING: This
story is fiction, and should be treated as such.  The following story is
for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit
sex.  If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, DO NOT
read any further.  If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT read it.

   Although I am not the author, merely a reposter, this is a copyrighted
work of the author.  Reposting or any other use of it is strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except that it may be posted as part of a review or posted to a
free-access, noncommercial archive site.

   DO NOT EMAIL ME WITH EITHER YOUR PRAISES OR YOUR COMPLAINTS AS I DID NOT
WRITE THIS STORY.  If I had the authors email address, it is included in
the story.  If not, I don't know how to contact the author either.  As this
particular story was not originally posted by the author, but rather
grobert, TheEditor, you might try contacting him in order to get in touch
with the author.

   DISCLAIMER: All characters are fictitious.  Any resemblance to anyone
either alive or dead is purely coincidental. 
******************************************************



   "Leila, bring me a pony, will you?  I'm off to class." "Yassuh, but she
a fresh 'un.  Not broke in yet." The brown stabler laid aside her broom and
came to the edge of the barn's yard-high platform, caressing her broad rump
with her pink palms.  "Tendah, you know.  She in for surprises heah."
"Well, it'll be the worse for her then, won't it?  Bring her on anyway. 
This heat forbids walking.  What gives her over to your good care so soon,
Leila?  Our students don't usually visit the disciplinarian on their first
day." "Slapped a handler, sah, right off the train from town yestiddy. 
Sumpun 'bout imput 'nance." She big menial spat out the word in a chirpy
falsetto and narrowed her nostrils, affecting disdain.  "Oh, wonderful. 
Rebellious, eh?  I really haven't time to do your work for you, Leila, but
if she's all you have, she'll have to do.  I'll need a seat belt, I
suppose, and let's use the punishment reins on this little filly, but don't
produce them until she's comfy.  She might pee all over your immaculate
porch at the sight of them.  And I think a two-foot whalebone." "Yassuh. 
What size saddle?" "Has she been, ah, evacuated?" "Yassuh.  She clear as a
bell.  And," she added slyly, "she woman-sahzed for her age." "Then I'll
leave it to your discretion, Leila, depending on how much correction you
think she needs.  And spice it up.  We'll give the brat a vivid memory of
her first day at Spurwood." "An' how," smiled Leila.  She disappeared in
her bright print dress through the black aperture of the rambling structure
after her freshman charge, barely creaking the dry boards of the old
platform.  For her not inconsiderable size Leila moved deftly.  As
disciplinarian of last resort in a girls' school housing only the worst of
miscreants, clumsiness or indecision would have ill become her.  Going to
the tangled nest of bikes clustered at platform's end, I kicked one free
from the others, rolling it to the dock so our pony could mount easily,
though probably not modestly.  A tricycle really, of lightweight
construction and ingeniously geared to allow a scared and strong young girl
to tow all but the heaviest of riders, the device was a common form of
transport on Spurwood's flat and secluded grounds.  Definitely not a
popular conveyance among those students chosen - rather arbitrarily, I
might add -- to serve in the pony pool.  I stepped round one of the large
rear wheels and brushed dust from the low-slung wicker seat astride the
rear axle, settling comfortable into position behind the elevated driver's
seat tubing, unadorned for now and at eye level.  Releasing the sprocket
and pedals - metal shoes, really - I swung them out to the horizontal,
where self-locking hinges held them rigid until we -- or rather I -- was
ready to depart.  For midmorning it was already hot; my girl had a rather
steamy journey ahead of her, though not as steamy as mine promised to be.
And reluctant she was to begin it.  She emerged slowly from the stable's
deep recesses, her face straight ahead, large terror-suffused eyes blinking
madly against our Southern sun.  Leila's standard hobbler was no great
impediment.  I had seen veteran troublemakers run in it, though awkwardly.
The youngster now restrained -- perhaps 16, but as Leila had hinted, well
into womanhood -- appeared impeded less by the device than a natural fear
of the unknown, and by the prospect of splinters in what seemed to be, at a
distance of some yards, well-turned and graceful bare feet.  She would soon
learn to ignore such minor forms of pain.  The ends of the heavy steel bar
nestled behind the naked girl's bent knees were tightly fastened above and
below the joints with adjustable loops of riveted leather, holding her legs
open in a lewd squat.  Further encouraging her servile posture was a simple
figure-eight cinch strap, knotted around her distended and bulbous breasts
at the chest wall and strung from between them to the bar's middle.  It
looked tight enough to play a Bach cello suite on.  If I knew Leila, and I
did, the cinch was thin and cutting, watered daily by her reprobates'
urine, and baked to acidic rawhide in the sun.  A sweating and struggling
girl who cut herself on such a strap only struggled the more, in vain.  The
Spurwood girl who learned nothing else in four years learned composure. 
Each of her small wrists were secured by loops to the bar, behind it and
palms in, some inches inside her spread knees.  Leila was gentle with the
new girls; she hovered behind the pony inching its way across the platform,
whistling absently and encouraging the youngster's progress.  This she did
with rhythmic arcs of a springy yard-long wooden paddle, whose last foot
was stitched with very grainy sandpaper.  She uppercut the girl's generous
and jiggling buttocks with powerful and solid-sounding thwockkss, dragging
the pebbly paddle tip up and off the quivering nates after each smarting
spank.  The girl fisted her hands and squeezed tears from her eyes at each
swat, clumsily swinging her pale and obviously pampered body forward in the
humiliating crab walk.  The hobbler in itself wasn't a painful getup but
inconvenient, serving to remind the wearer, usually confined here for
willful impulse, that hasty impulse had brought her here.  I had time to
inspect my trussed pony, who took perhaps two dozen swats - more, probably,
then she'd accepted in her life -- as she and Leila inched towards me. 
Reclined in the carriage, my view was ankle-height; she would have been
arresting from any angle, but was the more so for the expansive display of
her charms afforded me.  Tall, full-figured and a little plump for her age,
bullet-breasted and heavy-hipped, she would have been statuesque drawn to
full height, as she had no doubt carried herself in the world.  Leila
brought her to a halt at the platform's verge, the girl's toes bunching at
the air beneath them.  Her leonine, ringleted brunette mane had been
roughly twirled and yanked into a topknot to expose a tender, freckled nape
and a broad jaw line which had probably been pointed to the horizon most of
her life.  So it was now, but by mechanical, not attitudinal, means: her
full lips moved fish like along the flared base of a large butt plug that
forced her mouth open in an astonished and silent oval, below equally
incredulous green eyes.  Buckled by straps to the rear of a leather collar,
the plug drew her head back in an attentive stare.  The girl squatted
quivering, breathing stertorously through her snubby nose, leaking tears
and sweat onto the platform.  "She tastin' the lass dinnah she et in de
free worl'," said Leila.  "From the sahz o' de stool she slid out dis
mawnin', it uz a good 'n, too.  It neah broke de saddle strap holdin' dat
plug in all night." Leila dropped a chunky burlap bag on the platform by
the girl's feet and knelt over it, rummaging through its clanking contents.
The girl's flattened ears twitched at the ominous atonal chorus at her
feet, and her head strained to swivel around and assess the awful surprises
being readied for her.  Leila saw this, raised her paddle high, and brought
it down almost vertically with a sssssSWAPP on the blubbery shelf of the
pony's out thrust buttocks.  "Ahs front, peeg," she drawled.  The girl
jerked at the blow, stomping and yanking her tightly bound wrists at the
heavy transverse bar between her legs.  Out came a broad leather belt,
which Leila quickly spun around the uncomprehending girl's soft waist and
hauled closed from the back, leveraging a coffee-colored knee into her
spine as she forced wet gasps from the pony's stoppered lips.  From the
belt's sides depended single sturdy straps that swung free, their buckles
tinkling against the weathered wood.  Leila next reached between the girl's
spread knees and thumbed open a catch stringing the girl's teats to the
bar. The cinch leapt skyward with a THRUNNGG, snaking and hopping.  Its
victim showed what small measure of relief she could, shaking her heavy
tits from side to side.  Still throttled at their base by the excruciating
figure-eight strap, they only joggled tightly, white globes full to
bursting with tender musculature and springy fat, skin drawn back and
stretched smooth and thin as a soap bubble.  The aureoles were large and
smooth, pinkish for a brunette's, delicately veined; the nipples smoothly
sculpted and erect, vulcanized now by outrage rather than eros.  They
looked a powdered, pampered pair that had been secretly and solitarily
admired, cupped by the best lace New Orleans sold.  A single crop-stroke
across these beauties now, I thought, would welt this girl to her very
soul. Leila's big hands blurred at the girl's wrists and tossed their
fetters aside.  The slave's arms hung, still deadened, as her mistress
braced and gripped her armpits, hefting her.  "Slahd yer toes inna pedals.
monkey," she commanded, "and hol' the hannelbars.  You goin' fo' the ride
of yo' life." Leila didn't even grunt as she swung the girl over my head
and eased her slowly down, levitating her in front of my perch.  The girl's
protruding ass -- big, firm, violently pinkened by Leila's preparatory
paddle-swats -- rolled and dimpled no more than 18 inches from my nose as
she seesawed her still-pinioned knees, searching for purchase with her feet
and slowly-awakening hands.  She found both, sliding her hands into the
curiously-gloved sculpted handle grips and arching her pretty toes downward
into the show like bike pedals.  When Leila saw the girl was about to take
her own weight on her feet and hands, she nodded at me and let go.  We had
done this before, of course, and were ready.  The girl couldn't have known.
Her whole body tautened and strained upward, and I heard a flatulent
spluttering whine through her butt-plug gag.  I kicked closed the hinged
heel-restraints on the bike pedals and heard them ratchet home over the
naked coolie's insteps, while Leila yanked tight her wrist-restraints,
fettering the girl's hands in the closed grips.  Our little miscreant
wanted to jump into the next county, but she had nowhere to go.  The
minuscule needles carpeting the grips and pedals would have been minor
irritations to a washerwoman or country girl, but they were shocking
insults to leisured young city girls given to hand cream and pedicures. 
While too short to cause deep punctures or severe bleeding, they were sharp
enough to stab and harry at tender skin, like a burr chestnut rolled
between the palms.  They were barely tolerable if the sufferer constantly
shifted her weight between all four stinging fulcrums, as our pony was now
doing, but several minutes of this defensive squirming was normally the
limit before an escape was necessary.  But escape to where?  I knew from
many previous trips on Spurwood's devilish rickshaws that sooner or later,
depending on the driver's pain threshold, she simply had to distribute her
weight elsewhere.  This girl was already circling and squatting her
magnificently rotund heart-shaped ass, frantically searching for a seat
that should be, must be, somewhere under her.  Still collared to her shitty
muzzle, she couldn't see below or behind her, and she strained down against
the bar still pinioning her knees, creaking the leather straps.  What a
difference, I thought appreciatively, 24 hours and a little legal leverage
can make.  Only yesterday at this time the little bitch before me would
have disdained my admiring so much as her earrings, and she was now begging
me to inspect every velvety millimeter of her exposed underside.  Leila had
shaved bare her soft pink pussy-cleft and convex baby-fat mons, both of
which were raised up and forced rearwards, doggie style, by her desperate
attempts to arch off her needily perches.  Her labia were fat and
close-set, pillows of dewy denuded flesh that audibly snicked open and
closed now as she struggled.  The redder vaginal cusp flared reluctantly
between the lips' moist aperture, narrow and velveteen, topped by a puffy
hooded clitoris.  Leila dropped the phallus, fixed to a sturdy pipe, into
its seat tubing with her gloved hand.  I tightened it down, bringing my
nose within inches of our driver's still-gyrating bottom.  Fully fleshed as
her buttocks were, they appeared smaller once the huge dildo was affixed,
stern and implacable, under them.  It stood waiting, inexhaustible, its
knob perhaps a foot from my jaw as I sat forward, the girl's abundant
globes eddying and kissing at eyebrow level.  Leila undid the bar at the
pony's right knee while I unbuckled the left, and the black overseer slid
the girl's fetter away, allowing her to squat even more lewdly.  This she
immediately did, scissoring her cramped thighs wide and splaying her ass
cheeks and delectable cunt down, toward the unknown.  Off-center a bit, she
poked the giant cock into her right buttock at first, and I watched it sink
into the unresisting globe before she jerked back up, startled by the
unexpected object.  She experimented again, this time more slowly, and this
time the cock head bumped the perineum and slid slickly forward, nosing
apart the shaven cunt lips.  Again she shot up and hovered, trembling,
thinking, fearing the worst.  She knew suddenly what it was under her. 
"Phobos and Deimos," I said to Leila languidly, drinking in the impudent
fatness of the 16-year-old's hesitant buttocks.  "The two moons of Mars. 
Fear and panic.  The Greeks were anything but clinical in their heavenly
nomenclature." "De Greeks," Leila chortled, "'bout to learn sumpin from dis
gel." The girl heard, and though inexperienced sexually she must have known
some sexual allusions at least.  For she began to heave and snort,
furiously pulling at her bonds in a tantrumatic last-ditch bid to escape
her assigned task.  The bicycle shivered and squealed, and its front tire
skipped and hopped in the dusty courtyard as the buck-naked girl wrestled
it, trying to pedal away, to jump off, to run back into Leila's dark stable
and be hanged upside down again from her knees, anything, anything but
this. "Duck, perfesser," Leila said casually, hefting her paddle in both
hands and measuring the girl's ass.  I wriggled backwards in the seat and
did as she said.  A brown blur painted itself with a cccrrrrrAAKK into the
girl's bouncing sulcus-flesh, where buttocks cupped thighs.  The impact
reverberated through the bike's skeleton, and I saw the girl's ass flatten
under the paddle and rebound.  Leila quickly gave her another double-armed
backhanded srrraaaaackkkk , higher up where she couldn't fully clench her
jutting, deeply-set buttock crowns.  The rear wheels, with my weight on
them, nearly jumped off the ground.  Ripples from the stroke ran round the
girl's full hips, bloated as they were by the tight waist-belt, and
violently jiggled her thighs.  Wide bands of red pebbles leaped up and
glowed where the paddle had struck.  I saw the instrument fly into Leila's
right hand and point at the sky just as the girl preened forward away from
the bottom-punishment, her chest out thrust, her face ratcheted up in a
burbling butt-blugged whine of pain.  God, Leila had timing.  Lips set, the
black menial swatted the pony's breasts with a WHECCKKK that spattered an
echo like a damp firecracker's across the open courtyard.  From behind her,
I saw for an inexpressible second tit-flesh balloon under her armpits, then
disappear as they bounced back.  The girl spasmed.  A nervous mist of urine
suddenly sprayed wildly from between her legs, twirling hot droplets of pee
across my pant legs and raining down her own thighs.  A helpless SPRADDAPAP
of a fart broke from her rectum and slowly keened away to a hiss with the
giddy shower of pee, bathing my face with sour fruit and buttermilk odors,
not entirely unpleasant.  I could but imagine the effect the stroke had had
on the girl's heavy and tenderized tits, ballooned and haltered as they
still were by the tourniquet-like straps.

   "Duhty little monkey," Leila scolded, clattering the paddle onto the
barn's stoop.  "If you wuzn't already fixed, you'd lick Mastuh off." She
slid her brown hand between the girl's piss-glistened legs, mopping the
acrid dew from the insides of her thighs and scooping more from her
wettened sex lips.  I saw her gleaming hand go gently to the girl's face,
where she slowly massaged the warm urine into it, finally wiping the damp
detritus on the girl's heaving and no doubt bruised breasts.  We waited,
saying nothing, listening to the girl's desperate nasal panting and
watching her tire.  She was a plucky one, I thought: no Spurwood pony in
recent memory had resisted the needles quite so long.  To draw her down
onto the waiting phallus would have been a simple enough exercise, but
coercion would make it less humiliating for the girl.  Much naughtier, and
I needn't add more entertaining, was to let the little bitch initiate her
own anal punishment.  This she did, but only after a diverting attempt,
common among first-time drivers, to silently plead for softer duty. 
Bucking her hips back and slowly descending on the organ, she first eased
the cock head between her cunt lips and swirled the fleshy rose around its
stolid eye, opening and lubricating her fat labia.  Getting no immediate
reprisal for this unpermitted act, she quickened her eager humps,
snickering the tight glove of her young quim over slick cock's knob.  Leila
laid into my outstretched right palm the familiar handle of the prescribed
riding crop.  A favorite of mine, it was a licky and wobbly length of
cylindrical whalebone that tapered to infinity, shrunken over with
drum-taut calfskin and tipped with an indestructible tassel of knotted
sinew that snapped and bit like a rabid animal.  I had used it often with
wonderful corrective effect.  I remembered a biggish new girl belted over
one of our older blocks had once broken her knee restraint at this vicious
crop's welcoming kisses, frantically kicking out at me with her near leg
and squealing for respite, spooling out a yard-long hose of pale yellow
behind her.  The remaining cuts and more had searched the intimate folds
her strapped legs had hidden, bucking her through the ordeal like a
hornet-stung mare.  I had explained to the brash young juvenile, between
metronomic licks of the crop's knotted tongue, that we had reasons for
restraint here at Spurwood, that our laws, like those of physics, made
sense and were broken only at the rebel's misery.  This lesson had been
driven home by her wearing of the foreshortened knee strap as a continence
belt the rest of term, the half-inch rawhide hiking her cervix to her
stomach but for chaperoned latrine visits, carving her broad, flabby belly
into mock buttocks for the amusement of all onlookers.  Leila had also
pierced the girl's big nipples and wired her thumbs to them, hands
reverently crossed, to frustrate fidgeting and encourage contemplation of
her dire plight.  She had broken no more school equipment the remainder of
her stay.  The squatting young miss now in front of me was also testing our
laws, and would soon find them as iron as gravity's.  I let her force the
cock head, not without difficulty, into her slickened and reddening
pussy-purse.  She bounced gently up and down on the broad mast, carefully
purchasing millimeters of the head, over which her bare twat lips were
gradually closing.  This was the largest prong that had ever been up her --
and probably ever would be -- but it wasn't to last as long as she thought.
She straddled wider and eased another several inches of the engine up her,
engulfing the cock head completely and beginning her distended slide down
the bulbous prick.  The muted whimpering in her throat was, I suppose, a
mixture of pain, dread, and perhaps surprised relief that we were allowing
her this compromise.  We weren't.  I let her stuff maybe half the greasy
cock into her vagina, enough to unwittingly coat it with the still-dormant
lubricant, before I hit her.  I backhanded the loose-limbed crop into her
left buttock, watching it lap a valley into the unsuspecting flesh, bite
with a crisp WHICCKKK and spring back, shivering.  It was little more than
a reminder stroke given the awkward positioning and lack of room, but I
knew it was agony for the untrained girl and that the searing pain would
build and stab to a peak after a slow four count.  I waited exactly that
long and carved the spiny shaft harder diagonally and down across the right
buttock, which was forced out against the bluish weal stitching itself over
the left, now cringing dog like.  The whalebone wheezed into the bouncy
right rump with a raspy whine, puckering the globe and squeezing a last dry
hiss of complaint from the frightened girl's bowel, vised as it was by her
clenched cheeks and prodded inside by the monstrous cock.  The girl didn't
wait for the third stroke.  She struggled off the member with an audible
SSNOOOPP, squirting the black tube from her as if it were on fire.  She
would soon think it was.  I gave the crop a practice WHEESH in the air next
to her hip, signaling what further delay would bring.  She lunged her anus
to the cock head and buried it immediately, the big white inverted heart of
her ass spread wide open and pushing as it had never pushed, a mournful
groan rising from her plugged throat.  The anus widened, yielded, and
clamped closed over the massive head, and Leila ordered, "Hol', girl." She
was screaming now into the gag.  She obeyed, while I drew the tongue of her
leather garter belt through the bike's clamps and buckled them taut.  She
was now impaled for the remainder of the ride, try as she may, and would,
to extrude the burning serpent from her.  Her only "choice," could it be
called that, was how many inches of the punishing seat-dildo she wanted
plumbing her young belly as she pedaled.  She could drive the highly-geared
bike either sitting or standing, as it were, but could hold neither posture
for long.  She was to be a slave of Spurwood's terrain, a frequent target
for the whip, a victim of the acidic venom soon to catch fire in her pussy
and bowels -- in short, a very busy young lady.  Spurwood's rickshaw was
actually ideal training for servicing the male member.  I had seen it work
many times.  Shy and hesitant movement on the seat-cock only slowed the
driver's progress; they found within moments of departure that only
rhythmic and enthusiastic pistoning on the phallus, with brief rests
between, got them anywhere.  We only taught our students what life would
later teach them.  The needles were driving her down.  She had been too
long on them, and must sit.  She shoved half the slippery cock up her at a
single ardent stroke and took the rest by fractions, bouncing and
whimpering, the small of her back canyoned and her entire weight pitched
into the task.  I could see her bowed belly curving up beyond the oiled
crotch and impossibly distended anus, and it was slowly inflating,
cock-pregnant, yielding its innermost depths to the phallic burden.  Have I
neglected to describe the resting-place awaiting our driver?  Forgive me.
Imagine a broad panty-crotch extending forward from the anus and cupping
the mons like a glove, a contoured pussy-nest that would bear weight long
enough to relieve feet and hands.  A panty-crotch whose tines fanned up and
out in a concave rictus of gleaming Sheffield steel, dotted with waiting
needles exactly like those the girl was escaping.  Such was the unholy base
of the phallus onto which she finally settled, penis-glutted, whinnying. 
She sat, stone-still, her knees and elbows veed up off their tormentors,
her spongy crotch helplessly gripping the needled seat buried in her bare
labia.  I think she was truly beyond surprises by now.  I stood behind her
and reached down, cupping a bottom-cheek in each hand, touching her for the
first time.  She jerked.  They were hot, a little downy, smooth but for the
single welt scarring each.  I yanked them apart and she grunted, settling
deeper still on the rude prong up her arse.  They can always take more.  I
put my lips to her left ear.  "Get used to that plug up you, Miss," I said
gently, receiving a mournful and glassy sideways stare.  Her face gave off
a feral odor of piss and sweat, tear-diluted.  Brownish drool ran over her
chin from the gag's base.  "We have study desks similarly equipped," I
added, "for fidgeters and slackers.  I think you'll qualify for one of
them." As I spoke Leila poured into my right hand a pool of light chain
with two heavy rings sewn along its length.  I reached around the girl's
waist and palmed the metal objects, shaking out their attaching reins. 
Called "tit bits" for want of a better description, they were handcuff-like
ovals of flat steel, hinged at their junctures and spring loaded beyond
rattrap strength.  Squeezed open and pushed over the breasts until they
could gather no more flesh, thin serrated jaws clamped and held upon
release.  The unfortunate wearer felt her teats bitten and weighed down by
a pair of demonic infants starving her very chest of tender skin, voracious
imps dislodged by no amount of pleading or shaking.  The girl gargled on
her gag and suddenly began humping the full length of the penis up her. 
The slumbering poison sap had awoken, goading her to desperately buck
against its heat, escape it, appease it.  No mercy could be found in the
dumb mixture, of course, and even less in me.  Ass cheeks flowered wide
open, braced again on hands and feet, the squatting teen avidly rode the
butt cock as if trying to exhaust it, limpen it, expel it from her burning
entrails.  Slucking up to its tip only to be jerked short by her gartered
belt, she shook the implacable knob with her sphincter, then with a groan
forced herself down its full length, bumping off the spiky base and
squirting back up.  The searing lotion demanded movement, the big penis
punished the same; the maddened girl might as well have been tied over a
block and butt fucked by our biggest field-hands, for all the choice she
had in the matter -- and when she was given such duty, as she would be, she
would beg for more penises and grip them gratefully lest she be returned to
the pony pool.  This is fact, dear reader, not conjecture.  "You move that
big bottom nicely, young miss," I whispered in her ear, cupping her swaying
breasts with the bits, yawning now in my hands.  I'm fairly strong but I
always had trouble holding the things open for long.  Her arse-cheeks
helplessly stroked my stomach as I walked the open clamps up her tits,
letting her feel the cool metal and small, sharp teeth.  Her nipples were
rubies poking into my palms, her aureoles hard rubber balls, her lovely
breasts big honey-laden silken sacs.  I put my right cheek to her left and
watched her eyes, bulging and pleading, swivel down to her chest.  "You'll
feel a pinching, not intolerable," I told her quietly, "and when I release
the pedals of this conveyance, you will take us to class.  We will
encounter various forks in the path en route, and I shall direct you with a
tug to your right or left breast.  You will stop, for as long as I desire,
when I pull on both.  The scenery along the way, for myself at least, is
quite entrancing and deserves leisurely study.  Try to ignore the whip
strokes to your bare bottom.  They mean nothing, other than that I enjoy
whipping you.  A vial of ammonium spirits in my possession will ensure that
we reach our destination, should you think fainting will relieve you of
duty.  Oh, and your first act in class," I concluded, "will be to relieve
me with your mouth, on your knees in front of your fellow students.  And if
you miss so much as a drop while swallowing, you'll get today's duty for
the next week.  Am I understood?" She shook her head "Yes" violently,
whimpering assent loudly though the cock-gag, her eyes pleading into mine.
"Good," I answered, and released the bits.  They jumped from my hands and
instantly the girl's two breasts were four, each cleft in half and bubbled
into two smaller globes, punctuated by the steel teeth.  I heard the faint
metallic creak of springs as the jaws settled into their soft pillows, and
the girl's outer globes began to pout and slowly turn upward, distorted
pink fruit seeking the sun.  I knew, if she didn't, that the outer halves
would be as purple as King Henry's robe by journey's end.  She kinked her
elbows in as far as her fetters allowed and hunched her shoulders down,
trying to mitigate the bits' fresh steel bite compounding the dull ache of
her chest strap.  Her lips were drawn back now in a concentrated trembling
frown, a hint of pearly teeth showing where they clenched the butt plug's
base.  I eased back into the rickshaw, looping the girl's reins loosely in
my hands, holding the crop in my right.  I gave an investigatory tug on
each and felt a springy rebound, hearing her grunt gutturally.  She was
sitting again, the spikes spearing her pussy, the wooden meatus up her ass
to its last millimeter.  A steady river of sweat runnelled down her back
and bathed her bare buttocks, dribbling off her into the dust.  "It's been.
. .interesting, Leila," I told the overseer, who was standing and smiling
at the girl, arms crossed and paddle held high like a standard.  "We'll see
you this evening, after the young vixen here has been soundly lectured in
Spurwood comportment." "Ah think she done already been," Leila laughed,
picking up her bag and turning for the stable.



   The End

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